Page 61 of Brewbies
“Identical,” Gemma replied. “Except when it comes to our taste in men.”
With this second mention of her sister’s fiancé, Darby finally twigged to the fact that this was obviously something Gemmawantedto talk about.
Shit, she was rusty.
But then, walking into your best friend’s dressing room to find your own fiancé buried nose deep in her twat tended to sour you on trust-based intrapersonal connections.
“And what do we hate about the bastard?” Darby asked, reaching for the electric-purple lace next.
“Well,” Gemma began, and promptly launched into a tirade that lasted long enough for Darby to settle on the roll of witchy black lace with batwing edges. Not her usual aesthetic, but it suited her vengeful mood.
“…doesn’t deserve to scrape gutter gum from the red soles of her Louboutins with his stupid, horsey teeth,” Gemma finished, the freckles standing out against her glowing cheeks.
After hearing a thorough assessment of Lyra’s fiancé, Darby was inclined to agree. And yet the frequent mention of their upcoming nuptials at a Sedona resort inclined Darby to suspect the roots of Gemma’s ire sank deeper than her sister’s intended constantly tugging at his foreskin through his golf shorts or the assertion that the color Lyra had chosen for her bridesmaids made Gemma look like a consumption victim.
Setting the lace next to her pert pink dildo cardigan, Darby leaned a hip against the counter while Gemma rang up her purchases. “That’s got to be hard. Both your sister and best friend engaged when you’re not currently coupled up.”
“Tellme about it. I’m so happy for Cady, I really am, but here I am watching reruns ofGolden Girlsand knitting slipcovers for sex toys while listening to her gush about Fawkes’ donkey dick and lizard tongue or all the ridiculously thoughtful things he does for her, and basically I want to throw myself in front of a steamroller.”
“No prospects on the horizon?” Darby asked.
“Please. There are spit bubbles deeper than the Townsend Harbor dating pool.” Gemma shook her head in disgust. “That’ll be seventeen twenty-two.”
“You know,” Darby began, digging her debit card out of her bag, “I have it on good authority that there will be some eligible bachelors coming into town for the carnival.”
“Oh!” Gemma took Darby’s card and plugged it into the appropriate slot. “That reminds me. I have your permits. I had to promise Judy at the county clerk’s office a front-row seat to that rope performer guy you were telling us about, but I’ve got them.” She waited until the receipt finished printing before tearing it off and handing it to Darby along with her card. “How’s the rest of the talent looking?”
“In a word, fabulous.” And for once in Darby’s recent past, this was true. Every invitation she’d sent out to the colorful crop of characters she’d amassed before her career shift to caffeinated beverages had been enthusiastically accepted. Plane tickets had been booked. Carnival rides rented. The whole of her colorful, seductive underworld ready to lift its skirts and scandalize Townsend Harbor.
Especially its hypocritical hunk of a sheriff.
“Yay!” Gemma chirped, bouncing on the soles of her Mary Janes. “I’m so freaking excited I can’t even feel my face.”
“Well, you better prepare yourself, because that face is going to have the hetero half of the entertainment drooling down their dick slings.”
“Right.” Gemma snorted. “Your fabulously interesting, urbane performer friends will take one look at this and fall madly in love.” She waved her hands over a body Darby suspected was curved in all the right places beneath her cat-centric granny-core couture.
“Why not?”
“And, of course, they’ll want to leave the big city lights behind in favor of a boring little town full of retirees who think prune juice cocktails and canasta represents a wild night,” Gemma added.
“I think you’re vastly underestimating the allure of both the town and its resident city counsel spy/knitting maven.”
Gemma’s flush deepened as she handed Darby’s bag over. “Speaking of spying, I heard a certain sheriff was involved in a very public spat right there on the sidewalk in front of God and his gardener after rhody-fest yesterday afternoon.”
Now, it was Darby’s turn to flush. “You did?”
“Mmhmm,” Gemma said, tapping a nail against her chin. “Seems multiple parties witnessed averyheated discussion.”
Darby swallowed sand. “You don’t say.”
“All I know is, the rumor mill is going nuts, and my voicemail box was full this morning, and I haven’t even made it through all the text messages.”
Fuckity fecking fuck.
“That’s…unfortunate,” Darby said, her mind already preparing an elaborate denial of whatever it was Gemma had heard.
“Right? And super weird, because I didn’t think Ethan and his mother were even speaking.”
